


What's Lost and Found

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 05:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: PROMPT: Hey there! I'm the person who left a prompt in the ao3 comments haha here's my prompt: could you write a post 5x09? Because we didn't get to see much between root and Shaw after they reunited and I'm just ugHhHh like how did they interact or what did they talk after they reunited?? Did Shaw follow root back home after that?? Did they talk about what happened at the park?? I need to know haha





	What's Lost and Found

After a half-hour of insistence and coercion, Sameen Shaw unbuckles her seatbelt in the parking spot across from Root's apartment complex. She keeps her left hand resting on the center console-- Root's fingers constantly grazing over the back of her hand the entire ride back, as if unable to leave Shaw untouched for fear of having her disappear. Shaw wanted to grab her fingers, halt those haphazard loops and swirls across her knuckles, if only to hold on. She knows if she did, she wouldn't be able to let go. She'd obsess over trying to discern the feeling of Root's reality over the simulation. So far, she still can't tell which this really is.

She let Root continue without pattern, hoping if there was no logical algorithm to it all, maybe this was real. _This could be real._

"Sameen?" Root's voice drifts to her slowly, pulling her out from the darkness of her thoughts. She lets her name echo back in her head. She never quite focused on the way Root said it, other than that she refused to use ‘Shaw’ 99.9% of the time. It was something that annoyed Shaw at first-- even the people closest to her had called her Shaw, and then some hacker comes along calling her Sam and Sweetie?-- but eventually grew to be their own give-and-take. _You like me enough to call me Sameen; I like you enough to not kill you for it._ But now, after being locked away for so long, Shaw's not sure she could ever hear Root say it enough. Each time, it's grounding in a way that makes her feel, at last, home.

"This is our stop," Root says, warmth still choked by gravel in her burning throat. Shaw'd been aware that Root was between smiling and welling up the entire ride back, but hadn't tried to comfort her. In fact, she didn't say much of anything.

_‘You can't live with me, and I can't live without you.’_

Root's words rattle around in her already jumbled mind. _She put a gun to her head_\-- no simulation had ever done that before.

There was some probability that this was the real world, which had increased after Root's full willingness at a double-suicide. _Shit, why did she have to do that? _The idea of a gun pointed at Root right now, in anyone's hands, leaves her ice cold. _Over 7,000 times I stopped it. This time couldn't be the slip-up. None of them could._

The odds of this being real are given their most merit by the message Root relayed to her when she escaped her holding room: 4AF. It was theirs, and she was certain Samaritan didn't know it.

Scratch that, she was almost certain.

Scratch that, she isn't certain of anything.

Root's hand leaves hers, and each of Shaw's racing thoughts drops. She can already feel the cold creeping back along her skin, and it's an unbearable kind of agony.

Root opens her door, stepping out from behind the wheel, and Shaw resignedly does the same. Her fingers press behind her ear for the thousandth time.

"I told you," Root says, voice kind but eyes swimming with storm-clouds. "There's nothing back there."

Shaw shrugs, fingers still prying. Her skin is raw in the spot, never able to leave it alone. _There has to be something there._

"Come on," Root says, pulling Shaw's hand away from her ear and using it to direct Shaw toward the lobby doors.

Shaw lets herself be dragged along, dread climbing into her chest and spreading like a virus. _You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have come with her until Samaritan was wiped out._

She knows, somewhere inside, that the prospect of taking down every Samaritan agent on her own was in vain-- there would always be more, or someone somewhere hired for _something_ with Samaritan pulling the strings. Perhaps that's why she was so steadfast on doing it: if the mission never ends, Shaw would never be back in a place she could hurt Root.

She looks Root over. The simulations did a hell of a job replicating her, but another point in the real-world's favor is the way she's acting right now. Subtly different. Wetness at the corners of her eyes, smile faltering in the way that fighting tears does. _Will the world always be like this? _Shaw wonders, continuing to scan Root. _A constant score board for real and fake?_

Shaw's eyes travel from Root's bouncing locks of dark hair, black jacket-- _nails unpainted?_\-- and--

Shaw stops. With the way Root tugs Shaw along, her handgun's grip glints in the apartment complex's outdoor light. Shaw sees the flashes-- _a roundabout, bright lights, night sky, dark red, world shaking, children laughing_\-- but the headache isn't there, the blinding nature of the programming. But still, the intrusive thoughts flood in.

_You're going to kill her, you're going to kill her, you're going to kill h--_

Shaw rips her hand away from Root's as Root opens the lobby door, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Root gives her a startled look, but Shaw keeps her eyes down. The mantra is like demons slowly returning to slumber.

_You're going to kill her... you're going to kill her... you're going to..._

Quiet. For the moment, there's quiet.

Root hits the elevator-up button, then leans against the wall. She inspects Shaw, taking note of the haunted look in Shaw's eyes, but not saying anything.

Shaw can't help but melt a little, seeing Root treating her as she always does. Well, besides the 'stop-checking-your-ear-for-chips' part. She's just so... Root. Even in the simulations, Root had a way of being wholly herself around Shaw, never walking on eggshells like the boys. She was a lot like this. _Just_ like this. 

_Please don't let this be another simulation._

The elevator doors peel open, revealing the confined space that Shaw already feels suffocating her without even stepping inside. Small, secluded, locked. She's taken out more than her fair share of ISA targets in elevators. Her fingernails dig through her pockets and into her skin.

Root slips into the elevator, not pulling Shaw along this time-- she knows this is something she has to do for herself.

"You coming?" Root asks with that devious smile that makes Shaw's heart twist and flutter. Root's tone has an air of not waiting up, but Shaw sees her finger pressing the door open button. She would stand there all night waiting for Shaw, if that's what it takes.

_Deep breath in, deep breath out._

Shaw steps into the elevator, doors sliding shut immediately behind her. She choppily stands beside Root, painstakingly aware of the guns at each side of Root's waistline.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it._

Shaw has a sensation of burning across her right cheek, and a tendril of fear strikes her heart. _The flashes are coming._ When nothing starts, Shaw turns her attention to Root, finding Root's chocolate eyes drilling into Shaw's profile.

"Can I help you?" Shaw deadpans, some elation in the normalcy of it all. Root's eyes gush, soft disbelieving smile perched back on her lips.

"Just enjoying the view." Coy and flirtatious. Just like normal-- just like Root.

_Just like the simulations._

Shaw pushes the words from her head, following Root to her door. The apartment complex is different than the one Root lived in before the stock exchange.

"I kept tabs on the old place," Root says, as if reading Shaw's mind while fiddling with the key. "Thought maybe you'd be hungry one day and try to raid my fridge for leftovers."

Shaw chuckles, but her bones ache with cold. _Did she say that because she knows me well enough to know what I was thinking, or did Samaritan pluck the thought and use it against me?_

"You mean the one on Pleasant Ave?" Shaw asks, knowing that was the apartment two before.

"No, Seventh," Root responds with a smile, lock clicking and door swinging open.

_She knows what I'm doing_, Shaw realizes, taking in the way Root keeps the smile on a little too long. _She knows I'm checking._

If it bothers Root, she doesn't show it, who steps into the apartment with expectations that Shaw will follow. Shaw contemplates running off, but the idea is more of a distant thud than an urgent pang.

The apartment is different than the simulations-- though the simulations seldom used the same living space more than a handful of times. _It's a shame that whoever was designing the rooms wasn't decorating that ratty hospital ward._

There's a brick wall on the far side, electric fireplace at its center, and large purple tapestry is draped near the ceiling. The other walls are a creamy white, purple lampshade and throw-rug in the living room. One thing Shaw knew that she was somewhat sure Samaritan didn't quite know-- Root was a sucker for purple.

_Unless, after storming enough of her pseudo-homes, they realized the pattern of furniture._

Again, she pushes it away.

"Nice digs," Shaw says, not even thinking before the words leave her mouth.

Root turns to her, sly glint in her eye.

"Wanna move in?"

Shaw'd heard the line more times than she could count.

_God, yes,_ she thinks. She could move in right here, right now-- not like she has luggage anyway.

_You can't stay here_. Her better sense is stern. _You have to leave._

Shaw rolls her eyes at herself, not wanting to listen. By the time she realizes Root probably thought the eye roll was for her, Root's gone.

_Is it a glitch?_

Shaw's heart sinks to the floor, and she clenches her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She knows the way this story plays, and she can't fathom Root being gone so soon. _Not now, not when I just got to see her._

Her mind flashes to the simulations where she didn't get so far. Only a few minutes after being reunited with John and Root, she was in a frenzy. Mind screaming and brain on fire. John dead on the ground. The horror. The shock. Root with wide eyes, the E train pooling with blood as it traveled to the next stop. Gun pointed shakily at Root, trigger finger itching. _Not her. Not her_. Gun turning, Root screaming, darkness.

At least by the end of the first three-hundred or so, she was making it to the end of the day with Root. By 2,000 she could get to day four. It took until about 2,500 for her to get a grip on everything-- that the odds were she didn't miraculously escape this time, and she could get until the end of the week. It never seemed like they could last longer than that before something unforeseen forced her hand.

She can't be back at square one. She can't remember if there was something between Root's offer and the emptiness. _Did I have a lapse in memory? Did I...?_

_No_, Shaw insists, more certain of this than anything in the past months. _I would never kill her. Ever._

But still, the question of Root's whereabouts remains. Shaw creeps down the hall, ears pricked for any noise. There's a rustling from the opposing wall, and as Shaw rounds the corner, she finds Root rummaging through kitchen cabinets. The counter's already half-full of miscellaneous takeout containers, jars, and freezer pizza.

"Who's army are you feeding?" Shaw cracks, and Root turns to her with a grin.

"There's someone I know with a bigger appetite than an army," she shoots back, and Shaw accompanies her at the counter. She's starving, yes, but the nerves are making her stomach turn. She knows she's not showing it, but she's never felt like such a live wire.

She cracks open one of the styrofoam containers and begins pecking at its contents. Root's eyes burn into her once again. She's leaning against the counter, arms folded, eyes fixed on Shaw. _Dangerously close, too,_ Shaw adds, barely enough space for Shaw to move her arm without bumping into Root's.

_Close the gap._

The thought's an impulsive one, but not the intrusive kind like earlier. This is the regular kind, the kind she only felt when she was alone with Root in the simulations.

Her heart beats a little harder in her chest, aching as she feels it physically pulling in Root's direction. She hadn't been this close to Root in over nine months, and yet it's not quite the closeness she's looking for. She doesn't just want to be in the proximity of close. She wants to be the fingers tangled in her hair close, the mouth on hers hard enough to hurt close, the no-guns-no-talking-no-restrictions close.

_Keep your distance_, she tells herself as sternly as she can, but with Root in her peripheral vision, fingers starting to tremor, she's struggling to make sense of the words.

Biting into a cold rib, Shaw lets her eyes meet Root's. She's got something on her mind, something swirling behind the affection, and Shaw wishes she could read what it is.

"You going to tell me I left you hanging at the stock exchange?" Shaw asks, hearing Root say it over and over again. _Thousands of times._ She wonders at what point will she bypass the staged lines and mechanical motions-- _when will something new happen that hasn't before._

Root gives her a curious one-over, then smirks.

"Not saying you _didn't_, but that wasn't what was on my mind."

"Oh?" Shaw's interest piques, a change to the rhythm. She puts down the rib, balling her hands into fists as the quaking turns into a full-on shake. God, she wants this-- _her_\-- so bad, it's unprecedented. She can barely focus, yet all of her senses are heightened. She's painstakingly aware of the way Root leans closer, her face barely two inches away, arm brushing against Shaw's shoulder, eyes reflecting the kitchen lights like small galaxies.

Shaw swallows hard.

"I was thinking," Root starts up, unfolding her arms to tuck a stray strand of Shaw's hair behind her ear. "You've had a rough couple of months."

Root continues toying with Shaw's hair, as if unable to draw her fingers away. She tackles each staticky lock and brushes through a knot by the back of her ponytail.

"You know," Shaw replies, "I'm not tired."

Root's fingers freeze and she cocks a brow. They share a look Shaw isn't quite sure conveys what she's feeling-- _does it ever?_\-- let alone the extent. Her walls are crumbling in, all reservations drowned out by the drum of her heart and Root's breath close at hand.

Root reanimates, combing through Shaw's hair once more, now with a certain delicacy. She's not as focused on it anymore; instead, it falls into a subconscious motion. The tension between them grows, reaching a fever pitch, and Shaw snaps.

Grabbing Root's face in her hands, she draws her close, the motion rougher than she'd anticipated. The light-hearted nature in Root's demeanor falls, revealing a far more serious, wanting tone. Root's fingers twist around Shaw's hair, her other hand falling just below Shaw's collar. She stops a moment, drawing it in. Their lips brush but don't quite touch, and Shaw clings to the feeling of Root so close and so real. _Right here, right now._

Root is electric under Shaw's touch, and as Shaw's eyes travel to Root's lips, a lightning bolt surges down her spine at the way Root's lip quivers. _Anticipating, springs coiling, setting off._

Shaw kisses her, hard. They stumble, back, forward, anywhere, Shaw becoming disoriented by the motion but keeping her eyes closed. The world around her slides away, the worry of simulations or Samaritan's head-scrambling a distant memory. She can't think in long strings, just small bursts, but each burst only has to do with Root.

Her knee connects painfully with the arm of the sofa, but Shaw barely registers it. Pulling Root closer, crashing to the couch, tumbling off. Magazines fly from the coffee table. Root's hands over Shaw's shirt, tugging at it, under it. Shaw's set ablaze, feeling like a four alarm fire in an oil refinery. Every last thought trickles away, until only one word remains: _Root_.

**___\ If Your Number's Up /___**

Shaw lays on her side, blankets pulled to her shoulder, with Root's fingers tracing lazy circles along her back. They'd made it to the bedroom, but it had taken some time. In the kitchen, some of the takeout containers are strewn about the floor. In the living room, magazines are like a new floor pattern, and the leg of the coffee table is cracked. In the dining room... Shaw makes a mental note to buy Root new dish-ware in the morning. _Not that any normal person keeps plates and silverware out on the table_, Shaw adds to herself with a soft smile. _Root's never been any normal person._

"What are you smiling at?" Root asks, voice a content purr. Root herself wears a smile, eyes gleaming in Shaw's direction.

"You know, I couldn't stand you when we first met."

Root scoffs, countenance showing sarcastic surprise.

"But," Shaw continues, curling her fingers around a wavy strand of Root's hair, "you wouldn't stop bugging me."

Root's smile tugs into a toothy grin, and Shaw can't help but pull her in for a kiss. Even when she finally pulls away, Shaw keeps Root close. Root's eyes flitter from Shaw's to a point just behind her.

"I already wanted to tear Samaritan apart," Root says, fingers stopping their trail along Shaw's back. "Turn it into an Atari." She sighs.

"Too nice?" Shaw asks, and Root gives her a look before nodding.

"Maybe a Casio," Root concludes, nose scrunching at the words. Her gaze returns to Shaw. "No new scars?" she asks. "At least, externally?"

"Samaritan's torture was more psychological."

"Doesn't make me want to shred it any less," Root huffs.

It was almost another point for reality. For so many of the simulations, there was a detail Samaritan didn't quite seem to catch-- the prospect of the stock exchange not being Root and Shaw's first encounter. Simulation after simulation, Root scorned Samaritan for the scars. At first, Shaw chalked it up to Root thinking there were more now than before, but after enough time, she realized the shock on Root's face wasn't that Samaritan was playing mind games, but that the _ISA_ did that to her. It didn't take too much longer after that, though, for Samaritan to try a simulation where Root already new.

_'No new scars? At least, externally?' Root asked her for the first time. Shaw's heart sputtered in her chest._ She'd almost accepted that she'd escaped from Samaritan after all-- clearly, it hadn't been the case.

"Sweetie?" Root's voice calls her back to reality.

_If she weren't here, who's not to say I wouldn't be spending another eternity running simulations in my own head?_ The idea that Samaritan's gotten to her, perhaps even won, sends a bolt of anger through her heart.

"Hey," Root's voice calls again, hand slipping from Shaw's back and resting at her cheek. Shaw's eyes focus back in on Root. "Stay here with me."

_Stay here with me._ Shaw thinks she could stay here for the rest of her life.

"I can't believe you're still in there," Root says, tapping at Shaw's temple. She backpedals. "I mean, of course you are, it's just--"

"A lot of simulations?"

Silence.

"Yeah."

Shaw nods.

"I know. But, I don't know if I am still in here."

Root's brow furrows.

"What do you mean?"

Shaw bites her bottom lip, unsure how to word it in a way that won't make Root run. _Maybe she should run._

"When I was in the ISA, they taught us if we were ever tortured, to take our mind somewhere else, somewhere safe." Shaw untangles her fingers from Root's hair and slides her arm around Root's waist. She holds her a little tighter, as if Root's going to fade away if she doesn't.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you go somewhere safe?"

Root's eyes are so intent on Shaw, she's barely able to focus under the intensity of her gaze. She clears her throat, forcing the words to come out.

"Yeah, but uh... they found it after a while." Shaw rolls her jaw in a slow circle, working the muscles before they can seal her mouth shut. "They found it, and I think that was their in. I don't know if I'm completely me anymore."

Root's eyes well with sadness, and Shaw can swear she hears Root's heart cracking. Root shakes her head, steely resolve coming back to her.

"Even if you're not, we're going to work on it. _Together_."

"Oh, there's a _we_ now?" Shaw cracks, not wanting to see Root upset. _Not right now._

"Well, clearly," Root replies, dashing smile returning.

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because somewhere in your sociopathic heart, you know we belong together."

Shaw acts as if she's weighing Root's words, but it's a topic she's already had months to think about.

"Okay," Shaw says, and a fleet of flares go off in Root's eyes. "_We'll_ work on it."

A key turns in Shaw's chest, unlocking something she'd assumed would be sealed off for the rest of her life. Knowing that Root's okay with this, with her however she is, makes the next thing tumble from the chamber.

"Is everything a simulation?" She blurts it, no time to word it better, and it carries the vulnerability Shaw would never show if the stars hadn't aligned. It eats at her, and to hell with it if this is still Samaritan. She's cracking, mind splitting into seven-thousand different realities, and she just needs to know.

Root weighs the question, searching around the room with her eyes, as if an answer resides in one of the darkened corners. Seconds drag on like centuries, and Shaw's about to give up and curl back inside of herself when Root finally speaks.

"In a way."

Shaw lifts a brow, waiting. _Is that it? The answer to my deepest, life shattering question? Three little words?_

"You only get one of _this_," Root continues slowly, trying her best to pick through a sea of words for the right ones. "But it's like... Schrödinger, almost."

"The cat guy?"

"He's not just the cat guy, but, yes. We're in a state where, until we act, there is an unlimited number of possibilities."

Root flicks Shaw in the temple, and Shaw narrows her eyes.

"What the hell?"

"That single flick was one action out of an unlimited number of possibilities."

"Gee, thanks for picking _that_ one," Shaw grumbles. Root rolls her eyes, beginning to massage the spot with her thumb.

"What I'm saying is, because there's an infinite number of possibilities, each different possibility is its own simulation. If I hadn't flicked you, you wouldn't have just said what you said to me. That possibility held an entirely different set of dialogue than this one." Root sighs, trying to bring the point back to a concise snippet. "Simulations are just play-throughs of every conceivable possibility, some more probable than others. Really, we're just the most probable of the simulations."

"I guess that's comforting?" Shaw says, liking the idea that she's not totally nuts, but not feeling like she's any closer to sane.

"I'll think about it more and get back to you. Sound good?"

Shaw nods, fatigue suddenly consuming her. She closes her eyes, nestling her head between the pillow and Root's neck. Her senses begin to dull, the promise of the first sound sleep she's had in months whispering to her.

"Where was your safe place?"

The question sends sleep's previous promise far from her mind. She opens her eyes, but leaves her head where it is. _This could just be a ploy,_ she thinks, but has to trust that this is really it. She trusts Root more than anyone, and her telling Shaw this isn't a simulation makes her believe it. _And hell, it's not like the safe place has changed, so if they're digging for my new hiding place, tough shit._

"You."

The single word leaves the entire room hushed. Root says nothing, though her hand stills against Shaw's face.

"Me?"

"There's this park... on a base in Qatar," Shaw starts. "It's kind of like one in the city, it's got an old roundabout."

"I don't think I know the one," Root says, and Shaw nods against her.

"But it was there, with you. It was _you_." Root shifts, and Shaw has an overwhelming sense of dread that Root is going to leave. Even if only for a moment, she can't stand the idea of it. Instead, Root envelops her with her arms, holding her close. She's unsure if Root is waiting for her to continue, or if she should just stop talking.

"I hated that roundabout," Shaw chuckles. "Hated spinning, but I wanted so badly to be able to do it. When the ISA told us to find the place, all I could think of was that. It was the only thing I could focus on so intently, trying to keep myself on it while it went around." She waits to see if Root will interject. She doesn't. "I knew I had to go back there when Samaritan brought me in. I needed something to focus on, but it wasn't the spinning anymore. The one thing, out of everything, I knew they couldn't take from me was you. Even if they knew everything else about me, and took it all, they couldn't take you."

Root presses her cheek to the top of Shaw's head, and Shaw hears Root's breath coming in shakily. Her chest rises and falls with an uneven hitch, leaving Shaw to kick herself for going too far. _I don't know why I went so far._

"You're safe with me," Root whispers, voice so faint Shaw nearly misses it. "You'll always be safe with me."

Shaw believes her. Absolutely, without any doubts of any simulations at play. _Safe._

A floorboard creaks from just outside the bedroom.

_It's them._

Shaw shoots up into a sitting position with the sheet wrapped around her, mind’s eye already seeing a sea of Samaritan agents with guns pointed into Root's room. Root sits as well, hand reaching to the gun taped beneath her bedside table. Shaw knows their tech. Knows they've undoubtedly got infrared trained through the wall, and they know exactly where to aim. _But it's not at me, _Shaw panics, forcefully tearing the gun from Root's hand and pointing it to the wall. _They can't get me to kill her, so they let me lead them to her._

_I shouldn't have let her talk me into coming back,_ Shaw berates herself, listening for another footstep. Root reaches under the bed, another gun in hand. _She needs Root out of here-- now._

"Stay here, Baby, I'll be right back," Root says beginning to slip out from under the covers. Shaw grabs her wrist with her free hand, her skin white like marble and a cold sweat making her palms clammy. _She can't go out there. Don't let her out there._

Another creak. Closer to the door. Shaw shoots.

Three rounds into the wall. She's certain they'll pass through, but even if she didn't hit anyone, it gives her a second to regroup.

Footsteps rushing. Door kicked in. Shaw aims, no time to run.

She has the sights pointed right between his icy blue eyes. Wide eyes, shocked eyes... _I know those eyes._

"Shaw?"

Shaw keeps the gun raised, nerves still running rampant. _It's like the simulations. It's the simulations._

_It's not_, she insists, hissing at herself. _You didn't know it was him._

John Reese. He lowers his weapon, not seeming to believe it's her. She can't believe it's _him_. She pries her fingers away from the gun, putting it as far away on the bedside table as she can. She almost shot him; she could have killed him. There's something, no matter how much Root will be here for her, that Shaw knows only the Machine will truly understand: watching the same person die thousands of ways. Seeing the light going out over and over.

"Reese."

He studies her face, jaw opening and closing without finding whatever words he's looking for. He settles for the best he can do.

"You could've at least called."

"Who the hell is it?" Fusco demands, storming into the doorway with his own gun at the ready.

His jaw drops. Then, he turns his attention to Root.

"This is why your house is a friggin' mess?" Fusco says, rolling his eyes. "And here, we were worried something _bad_ had happened to you." His attention snaps back to Shaw. "How long you been back for? We've been worried _sick_ about you around here."

"Not that I'm not happy to see you boys," Shaw says, nerves still rattling about like metal pellets in a tin can, "but what are you doing here?"

"Dinner," John replies. "Nine o'clock, like she said." He gestures with his head to Root, and Shaw snaps her attention to Root.

"They've been doing this a lot lately," Root assures her, buttoning up a pajama top underneath the covers. "Checking up on me ever since I went rogue."

"Woah, woah, wait. You went _rogue_?"

Root nods.

"And you didn't bother telling me?"

"Timing was never quite right," Root smiles.

"I can't believe it's you," Fusco whistles. "God, it's been ages." He steps into the room, as if ready to wrap Shaw up in a hug. She gives him a look that freezes him to the spot.

"Can we do the welcome wagon thing when I'm not _just_ wearing a sheet?"

The boys nod, excusing themselves from the room faster than humanly possible, though the door is off its hinges. Root gets up and pads quickly over to her dresser, tossing things she thinks will fit Shaw her way.

Shaw tugs them on, noting the too-long arms and pant legs she has to roll over twice.

"You should've stayed with the team," Shaw chides, unable to help thinking of all the ways Root was more vulnerable alone.

"Our interests weren't in the same place," Root replies, words tinged in a darkness Shaw decides needs more time than a quick change to get into.

**___\ We'll Find You /___**

Welcome homes, housekeeping mediocrely done, and Chinese takeout dished onto lackluster paper plates, the four turn to the scampering of four paws against hardwood.

Bear yelps, soaring into the air, and throws Shaw back a good foot. He licks at her face and she rubs behind his ears.

"I missed you too, boy," she murmurs with a smile, nose scrunching at his multitude of sloppy kisses.

"I heard celebrations are in order," Harold's voice reaches her from the hallway, and she pulls back from Bear to see him. He's dressed as snappily as ever, a bottle of nice scotch in hand. One thing she'd gathered from the trio while picking up broken glassware and styrofoam containers, was that Harold geared their efforts away from finding her. _Makes sense from a mission standpoint_, she had thought to herself, _but a real dick move from a friend standpoint._

He walks toward her, hand outstretched to hand her the alcohol. _Good enough of an apology_, she halfheartedly thinks to herself, snagging it from him and turning to put in on the table.

"It's good to have you back, Ms. Shaw." His words almost make her stop, something sincere and somewhat guilty playing in them. She decides there's plenty of time to be cold about it later. For now, it's time for good food and good liquor.

Shaw takes a seat at the table, understanding now why it was made up earlier, and Root slides in beside her. Bear snuggles up to her free side, resting his head on her leg. She pets his head rhythmically with one hand, shoveling food into her mouth with the other.

It doesn't take a genius to realize everyone's staring at her. She's like a new exotic animal at the zoo, and all the keepers take note of what she eats, how much, and if she's acclimating. Peering up from her food to give them all an icy stare, she's surprised to see them smiling.

"What?" she huffs, spraying some rice.

"Enjoying yourself?" John asks, amused. She narrows her eyes.

"Sorry, they don't have _takeout_ where I came from," she growls. He laughs, and she rolls her eyes. "So," she starts, swallowing an exceptionally large mouthful, "when are we getting out and kicking some ass?"

"Pardon?" Harold asks, bewildered.

"_Samaritan_?" Shaw clarifies with condescension. "Look, family dinner's nice and all, but no one's safe until they're toast." She doesn't add that no one's safe with _her_ until they're toast. She decides she's opened up enough for one life time, or at least, one night.

Harold gingerly places his chopsticks down, worried doing it any harder will set off Shaw's internal time bomb.

"I think it's best if we--"

"As soon as tomorrow," Root cuts in, giving Harold a look. "All depends on when we get a lead."

"And at this rate," John adds, pointing his fork in her direction, "the leads are jumping and shooting directly at us almost every hour."

Shaw nods, the direction-- the purpose-- centering her. She has a clear goal to attain. Nothing messy about it, nothing to get in the way. Plus, it helps that taking out Samaritan is just about the only thing she wants to do. She can't wait to see Greer's face when every last pawn falls, and he's left standing with the remnants of his tattered empire.

The lo mein noodles on Shaw's chopsticks slide off just before her lips, running down her chin and plopping back onto her plate. She digs into them once more, but freezes as Root leans in.

_She better not do what I think she's going to_, Shaw warns to herself.

She does.

Root drags her thumb along Shaw's chin, wiping at the excess sauce. Shaw jerks away, shooting Root eyes that could kill.

"Are you kidding me with this?" Fusco asks indignantly, and Shaw's burning gaze is redirected to him. "You know what we walked in on, right? And _this_ is what you're worried about us seeing?"

Harold looks quizzically between Root and Shaw. Root gives him a wink, his eyes widen, and Shaw swears she could kick Fusco's ass right now, and at least tell Root she has half a mind to do the same to her.

Before she has a chance to hurl herself over the table in Fusco's direction, Harold adds to her mounting fluster.

"Will you be staying with Ms. Groves tonight, or should I find you another sleeping arrangement?"

Perhaps it's an innocent enough question-- Shaw knows he could put her in any hotel in the city, hell, any apartment if that's what she wanted-- but having to answer in front of the rest of the team makes her want to get up and run.

_You should stay somewhere else_, that intruding voice warns. She knows that the flashes always started up after spending the night at Root's. _If you stay you'll kill her, if you stay you'll kill her, if you stay you'll kill--_

_I won't._ Samaritan might have found out her safe place, but that doesn't mean they've taken it from her. _Not even close._

"It's late," Shaw says, keeping her voice level as she listlessly picks at her plate. "Don't bother trying to find anywhere vacant tonight."

She feels Root's smile widen-- is almost blinded by it-- and gives an internal groan. _She's not helping my case._

"Besides," Shaw adds, some bite in her tone as she looks to Root. Even this one glance reminds her that she really can't stay mad. "I've never known a hotel to have as much food in the fridge as her."

Root's eyes gleam. She doesn't believe that's why Shaw's staying-- not even for a second-- and everything about her screams it.

"Leave the dog," Shaw adds, giving Bear a pat that punctuates the request.

"Very well," Harold replies, though his eyes remain on Root. She never looks back to him, fully affectionate beams dreamily locked on Shaw. It brings the ghost of a smile to Shaw’s face.

_Why the hell is she like this? _Shaw can't help but wonder, yet she wouldn't change a thing.

Fusco clears his throat, and Shaw realizes she's been returning Root's gaze a hair too long.

"This our exit cue?" he asks.

"Not before we have some of this," John answers for them, uncapping the scotch and pouring it into a plastic cup.

"Here here," Shaw mutters, lifting her cup his way.

He fills each of their cups around the table, and the deep, tangy punch of the alcohol is intoxicating before it ever reaches Shaw's lips. She takes in a deep breath, savoring the scent.

"A toast?" Harold asks.

"To Shaw," John replies, raising his glass her way. The rest follow suit.

"To Shaw."

Shaw tilts the cup back, letting the liquor dance over every tastebud before swallowing. Some of the tension holding the table breaks, quick jabs and laughs going around with drink after drink poured.

Root slips her hand into Shaw's under the table, wrapping her finger's tight around Shaw's. After a second, she pulls her own fingers in, the urge to never let go of this exact moment ringing in her ears.

There was never a simulation quite like this. Of the infinite possibilities Root was talking about, Shaw hopes this is the most probable. Of all the little things that can change by so much as a footstep placed in a different direction, Shaw hopes that they would all, somehow, lead back to here-- that they would all lead her back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so SO much @cheyennejiayun (not sure if tags work like this here?) for the prompt!! I absolutely loved writing it, and I hope that it meets your standards of post-5x09. I always wondered what happened too, and you gave me the perfect opportunity to dwell on it and reminisce about 5x09 and 5x04!
> 
> Also, thank you for always reading my stuff on AO3! I’m always seeing your username here, and I’m so grateful that you like my works! It always brightens my day to see a familiar name.
> 
> Thanks again, and a million times over!


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